AT KIANG HAI—FEROCIOUS DOG—CHINESE PACK-SADDLES AND MULES—ROUTES FROM
CHINA—ARTICLES OF MERCHANDISE—RICHNESS OF KIANG HSEN PLAIN—VISIT THE
CHOW HONA—MAN KILLED BY WILD ELEPHANT—CHIEFS WISH FOR RAILWAY—WOULD
HELP BY GRANTING WOOD FOR BRIDGES AND SLEEPERS—KAMOOKS FOR
LABOURERS—CHINESE SHANS AND CHINESE WOULD FLOCK IN FOR HIRE—EASIEST
ROUTE FOR LOOPLINE TO ZIMMÉ —TREES LADEN WITH WOMEN AND CHILDREN—DR
M‘GILVARY PURCHASES AN ELEPHANT—RECEIVES PRESENT FROM CHOW
HONA—SUNDAY SERVICE—UNSELFISHNESS OF DR M‘GILVARY—LAPOON
IMMIGRANTS—DEATH-RATE OF IMMIGRANTS—BOXING—A WOMAN IN CHAINS—LEAVE
KIANG HAI—YOUNG ELEPHANTS A NUISANCE—A YELLOW-TURBANED
MONK—FIREWORKS—WHISTLING ROCKETS—GIGANTIC ROCKETS AT FUNERALS—A
LOVELY LOLO-LAWA WOMAN—SPRING BLOSSOMS—CROSS THE WATER-PARTING
BETWEEN THE MEH LOW AND THE MEH ING—HOT SPRINGS—HOUSES ERECTED
FOR US—FISHERIES—ARRIVE AT MUANG HPAN—FORMATION OF A
SETTLEMENT—EMIGRANTS TO KIANG HSEN IN 1887—PROSPERITY OF COUNTRY—MR
ARCHER’S OPINION—THE FATHER OF THE STATE—LIKE A HIGHLANDER—DESERTED
CITIES—AN ANCIENT CHRISTIAN—VIANG POO KEN—RAPID DECAY OF BUILDINGS
IN A MOIST CLIMATE—ANTS AT WORK—DAMMING STREAMS FOR FISHERIES—INJURY
TO DRAINAGE—THE MEH ING A SLUGGISH STREAM—A HARE—OPPRESSIVE
ATMOSPHERE—SEARCHING FOR WATER—BOILING MUD TO MAKE TEA—A DISTRESSING
MARCH—CITY OF CHAWM TAUNG—A CELEBRATED TEMPLE—BUDDHIST LEGEND—A
GOLDEN IMAGE SIXTY FEET HIGH—LEGEND OF PENYOW—A BUDDH FORTY-FIVE
FEET HIGH—GAUDAMA EXISTING FORMERLY AS INDRA—A SHAN RACHEL—REACH
PENYOW.
Whilst the elephants were being unpacked, I approached the mule-loads of
a large Chinese caravan encamped near our _sala_, to take the dimensions
of a pack-saddle. The Yunnanese muleteers were some distance away,
squatting on the banks of the river, enjoying their pipes and a chat,
having left their goods in charge of a fierce Tartar dog, somewhat like
a Pomeranian, or rather a cross between a Pomeranian and a wolf. On
seeing me touch one of the saddles the dog rushed forward, snapping from
all directions. I did not like to strike the dog for doing its duty; I
was therefore greatly relieved when the head-man, seeing my dilemma, ran
up and called him off. After greeting me, he unloosed the packs from one
of the saddles so that I might examine it. It was ingeniously suited to
its purpose, and consisted of a light wooden frame formed to the curve
of a mule’s back, and had a raised arch in the centre to prevent it from
resting on the animal’s spine and thus giving it a sore back. Saddles
and packs are securely fastened to each other, and are loaded and
unloaded together.
[Illustration:
CHINESE PACK-SADDLE—FRONT VIEW.
]
[Illustration:
CHINESE PACK-SADDLE—SIDE VIEW.
]
The animals are sagacious and well trained, and come when called. At the
time of loading, a saddlecloth is placed on the mule’s back, the saddle
with the packs attached is lifted by two men, the animal passes
underneath, and the saddle is placed on its back and kept in place by a
crupper, and harness embracing the chest and rump. No belly-band is
used, and the whole is quickly adjusted. Many small brass bells are
placed on the trappings, and the leaders sometimes have a bell shaped
out of resonant wood, fitted with a clapper, and hung over their heads.
The tinkling of the small bells and the clatter of the large ones enable
the men to trace their beasts if they stray during a halt, and give
warning of their approach to elephant-drivers, so that they may back the
elephants from the path, and thus save them from being scared. The only
arms carried by this company of Chinese consisted of a couple of ancient
horse-pistols and a large iron trident.
The traders from Yunnan generally proceed _viâ_ Ssumao, Kiang Hung,
Muang Long, and Muang Lim—places neighbouring the Meh Kong—to Kiang Hai,
whence they find their way _viâ_ Zimmé to Maulmain; _viâ_ Penyow and Peh
to Ootaradit, or Tha-It, in Siam; and spread by various routes over the
Ping Shan States, to purchase raw cotton to carry back on their return
journey. Some of the caravans returning from Maulmain sell their
European goods at Kiang Tung, proceeding to it along the route traversed
in 1837 by M‘Leod. A few of the caravans coming south likewise use this
route, in order to dispose of some of the broad-brimmed straw hats they
purchase in Yunnan. These hats are supplied with oilskin covers, and
sell at Lakon, according to quality, at three rupees and six rupees
each. They likewise bring from Yunnan opium, bee’s-wax, walnuts, brass
pots, ox bells, silk piece-goods, silk jackets—some of which are lined
with fur—silk trousers, figured cloth, and tea. From Kiang Tung they
carry lead, _dahs_ or swords, steel in ingots, lacquer-boxes, tea, and
opium.
Noticing that the head-man wore a skull-cap of horsehair worked into a
handsome lace, which he had bought for a rupee and a half, I purchased
it from him for two rupees. On my showing him some black and white kinds
of tailor’s thread, he tried their strength, and said that he had never
seen any like them before, and when their virtues were known in Yunnan
they would have a good sale, as they were much stronger than ordinary
cotton-thread.
After breakfast one of the Christians from Ban Meh Kee, who happened to
be in Kiang Hai, hearing of our arrival, came to see Dr M‘Gilvary. He
said the land in the Kiang Hsen plain was exceedingly fruitful, and that
last season he received a return of fully 250 baskets of paddy for each
basket sown.
Learning that the Chow Hona, or second chief, had returned, we went to
call on him. On approaching his house we noticed four ladies winding
silk in the verandah, one of whom at once went to call him. After
welcoming us warmly, he said a wild elephant had just killed a man close
to the city. The man’s companions, on seeing the elephant approach, had
clambered up trees, and shouted to him to do likewise. He refused,
saying the elephant would not hurt him. After the elephant had passed,
they again called to the man, and receiving no answer, searched the
jungle, and found his remains quite mashed up. The prince said this
elephant was so fearless that it was in the habit of crossing the
rice-fields close to the city in broad daylight. The Chow Hluang had
issued an order against its destruction, as it was of enormous size, and
served as a stallion for his female elephants. His feet, as measured
from his footprints, were two feet broad; and therefore, as the height
of an elephant equals double the circumference of his feet, his height
would be 12 feet and 3 inches, or greater than that of any of the King
of Siam’s elephants. There is a general belief amongst the Burmese and
Shans that the spirits of human beings who have been slain by an
elephant ride on the animal’s head, warning him of his approach to
pitfalls and hunters, and guiding him to where he may kill people, so as
to add to their own company. It is therefore considered hopeless to even
fire at one which has destroyed many men. Tracking a wild elephant on
foot is always dangerous, as it is liable to return on its path and
attack its pursuers.
We had a long chat with the prince about the proposed railway. He
appeared to be a very intelligent man, and although gaunt and ungainly
in build, with an awkward gait, possessed great strength, and was
evidently very active. His temperament was high-strung, and his black
bead-like eyes wandered in every direction with a vigilance that nothing
could escape. He seemed much interested in the extension of trade with
Burmah, Siam, and China, and said the chiefs and people would be
delighted if the railway was put in hand. Every help they could give
would be gladly rendered; that teak was plentiful in the country, and
free permission would certainly be granted to cut it for the sleepers
and bridges. As for labour, as many Kamooks as would be required could
be hired from Luang Prabang. Their wages for working in the teak-forests
were fifty rupees a year and food, and the latter did not cost more than
three rupees a month. Gangs of Chinese Shans from the Shan States to the
east of Bhamo come every year to work in the Ping Shan States, and could
be employed on the railway. Other Shans would doubtless stream in from
Yunnan when once it was known that more labour was required, and that
good wages would be paid. A great part of the labour in Kiang Tung is
carried out by Chinese from Yunnan.
The following day the Chow Hona breakfasted with us. In answer to our
inquiries, he said the easiest route from Zimmé to Kiang Hsen was _viâ_
Viang Pow and Muang Fang, crossing the Meh Khoke at Ta Taung, and thence
over Loi Kee-o Sa Tai (2650 feet above the sea) to the Meh Chun, and
along that river to Ban Meh Kee, where the route joins that which we had
taken. A better route we afterwards found would be from Zimmé _viâ_
Muang Ngai; thence up the Meh Pam, and over the Pe Pau Nam
(water-parting) into the valley of the Meh Fang. The pass over the
water-parting is only 2158 feet above the sea. From Muang Fang this
route would follow that indicated by the prince, which was traversed by
Mr Archer in 1887. The loop-line could be completed by joining Zimmé
with the main line again at Lakon, or, _viâ_ Muang Li, near the mouth of
the Meh Wung.
On our returning his call, we found some of the fruit-trees in his
garden absolutely laden with women and children picking the fruit, and
teeming with laughter and merriment. Dr M‘Gilvary, being very much
pleased with the paces of the female elephant I had been riding from
Kiang Hsen, had arranged on the journey to purchase it from the mahout,
who was its owner, for 500 rupees, and had just learnt that the Chow
Hluang, whose serf the owner was, had decided to purchase it for 400
rupees, and that the man dare not say him nay. On his telling the Chow
Hona of his disappointment, he said he would at once go and expostulate
with the chief about it. It was only right that Dr M‘Gilvary should have
the animal, as he had made the first and highest offer, and it was not
fair that the man should be robbed of 100 rupees. He asked us to stop,
and said he would be back in a few minutes. On his return he told us he
had been successful; and that the Chow Hluang, who had not previously
heard of Dr M‘Gilvary’s offer, had at once given up his claim. As a mark
of his friendship for the Doctor, the Chow Hona insisted upon presenting
him with a handsome covered howdah for the elephant, and would not hear
of payment being made for it. I noticed many similar instances of
friendship on the part of the nobles I met on my journeys towards Dr
M‘Gilvary, who seems by his utter unselfishness and frank cordiality,
and great tact and kindness, to have won the esteem of the people of the
country.
On the 30th March, being Sunday, he held a service in the town, and had
a large audience of Shans. His delivery is very simple and unaffected.
The man is a thorough gentleman at heart, as well as an earnest
enthusiast in his mission. The more I saw of him, the more I liked him.
I never, during our long journeys together, saw him do a selfish action.
When tired, and nearly worn out with insomnia and fever, he sat up late,
night after night, to translate for me, because otherwise I could not
procure the information I required, as everything had to be packed and
the elephants off by daybreak.
Many hundreds of Lapoon immigrants on their way to Kiang Hsen were
encamped near our _sala_, and one morning fully 1000 others crossed the
river on their way to Kiang Hsen. It is pitiful to learn from Mr Archer
that he was told by the Chow Hluang of Kiang Hsen in 1887, that about a
third of the immigrants had died since the foundation of the colony in
1881. In Mr Archer’s words, “The privations the early settlers had to
suffer probably increased the mortality; but fever was doubtless
engendered by clearing the rank vegetation, and will lose much of its
virulence when the country is better occupied.”
One morning the mist lifted from the valley of the Meh Khoke, and I was
able to sketch the hills stretching thirty miles to the west, or as far
as the eye could reach. It was evident that the great rib spurs jutting
towards the river from the northern range were very much higher than the
backbone from which they sprang: this seems frequently to be the case in
the hills between the Meh Kong and the Salween.
[Illustration:
_View up the Meh Khoke from Kiang Hai._
]
Whilst watching a couple of the elephant-drivers boxing with regular
boxing-gloves, our old acquaintances the Moosurs came to pay us a visit,
and again brought their children with them. It was merely a case of
“How-do-you-do?” and “Good-bye,” as we had to go to the Chow-Hluang’s to
complain about two of the promised elephants not having arrived. On
reaching his house he told us that the wife of the owner of the
elephants had sent word that the elephants had been scared by a
jungle-fire, and had stampeded; that her husband was away after them,
and had not yet returned. On our telling the Chow Hona the cause of the
delay, he ordered the woman to be brought to the Court-house and put in
chains. The elephants were at once brought in, and we were able to start
on the morrow.
Next morning, the 31st March, the Chow Hona and Chow Nan Kyow Wong, our
companion from Zimmé, came to see us off, and were accompanied by the
Chow Phya, or head judge of Kiang Hai, who had been told off to conduct
us to Penyow. Six large elephants, two of which had babies with them,
had been hired for us, and Dr M‘Gilvary rode the elephant he had
purchased. I once more chose an easy-going female elephant for myself,
and had the amusement of watching the pranks of its big baby during the
march. These young elephants were the source of immense fun, but were an
intolerable nuisance to the men on foot, whom they delighted to
playfully tumble over like ninepins when the opportunity, for which they
were always on the alert, occurred. By half-past six we had said
good-bye and left Kiang Hai, which is 183 miles distant from Zimmé by
the road we were to take. The mileage on this journey implies the
distance from that place, and therefore gets less as we proceed.
Leaving the city by the south gate, we journeyed for ten miles through
the plain to the village of Yang Tone, situated on the Meh Low, where we
halted for breakfast. Our march led us through or near eleven villages,
all of which were embosomed in orchards fringed with beautiful feathery
bamboos. On our way we met a caravan of thirty laden cattle, a company
of eight Burmese Shans, and a Buddhist monk wearing a huge yellow
turban, similar to those worn by the monks in the Chinese Shan States.
[Illustration:
KIANG HAI TO LAKON
]
Ban Yang Tone is a large village stretching along the banks of the Meh
Low, and contains a fine temple and monastery. On entering the latter,
we found the monks and their acolytes making fireworks, amongst which
were rockets to be used at an approaching festival. These rockets were
formed of a tube of bamboo, 14 inches long and 2 inches in diameter,
tied to a light bamboo 15 feet long, the head of which had been turned
into a whistle. Ten other whistles, of various lengths and notes, were
fastened round the head of the rocket. When fired, the rocket ascends to
a great height, and is accompanied by music made by the air rushing
through the whistles. Other rockets of great size are made for setting
fire to the funeral pyre on which the bodies of monks are burned.
According to Mr Scott (Shwé Yoe), in his admirable work ‘The Burman,’
some of these rockets “are of huge size, constructed of the stems of
trees hollowed out, and crammed full of combustibles, in which sulphur
largely predominates. Many are 8 or 9 feet long and 4 or 5 in
circumference, and secured by iron hoops and rattan lashings. Up in
Mandalay some are very much larger. These are let off at the funeral
pile from a distance of 40 or 50 yards, the largest being mounted on
go-carts, and many others guided by a rope fastened to the _pyathat_,
the rocket sliding along by means of twisted cane loops.”
[Illustration:
_Rocket-stick of bamboo, formed into a whistle at the top._
]
On strolling to the Meh Low, I met two Lolo-Lawa women. One of these
would have been taken for a handsome gipsy in England. An artist would
have been gladdened by the chance of securing such perfection for his
model. The grace of her pose, the faultless symmetry of her person, her
fearless aspect, and perfect self-possession, her pleasant voice, and
the courteous unconstrained manner in which she answered my questions,
bespoke her one of nature’s fairest works. Unluckily I had only the
bumptious village elder Portow with me to catechise the woman; and a
crowd of village boobies soon gathered round, who looked upon the whole
matter as a joke, and jeered at the woman and her friend. She soon
became justly and proudly irate, and refusing to impart further
information, walked disdainfully away. The few words of her vocabulary
that I procured, placed it beyond doubt that she was of the same race of
Lawas whose villages I had passed in the upper portion of the valley of
the Meh Low after leaving Muang Pa Pow. She said that she resided in one
of the five Lawa villages that are situated in the basin of the lower
portion of the Meh Low, which together contained about a hundred houses.
Leaving the village, we traversed a great rice-plain, and entered a
forest of bamboo, in which many teak-trees were scattered. We soon
afterwards crossed the Huay Wai, upon which is situated, three hours’
journey up-stream, the ancient city of Viang Wai (the rattan-cane city).
Some of our men who made a detour through the city, reported that one of
its gateways was still erect, and there were ruins of a temple inside
the walls. The forest we now entered was brightened by yellow, orange,
and red blossoms, and some of the trees were decked with tender spring
foliage. After passing many teak-trees and another village, we crossed
the Meh Low, here 300 feet wide and 12 feet deep, with 2 feet of water,
and halted for the night at the pretty village of Ban Long Ha. We had
travelled 15 miles during the day, and had risen 120 feet since we left
Kiang Hai.
The next morning we were off by half-past five, and after skirting an
old cut-off bend of the Meh Low (the _ow_ in Low is pronounced as in
“cow” in English), crossed the saddles of three small hillocks which
mark the water-parting between the Meh Low and Meh Ing. The aneroid
marked a fall from our camp to the crest of the saddles; but as there
must have been a rise, I have assumed it to be 10 feet. The valleys
between the hillocks are inundated to the depth of 3 feet in the rainy
season.
Continuing through the vast plain, which, as near as I could judge,
averages between 25 and 30 miles in breadth, we halted for the night not
far from Ban Poo-ken, the headquarters of the governor of the district,
which is known as Muang Hpan or Muang Phan.
Referring to this small province in 1887, Mr Archer writes: “Muang Phan,
a cluster of villages half-way between Chienghai[7] (Kiang Hai) and
Phayao (Penyow), forms an agreeable contrast to the new settlements
farther north. The plain, laid out in rice-fields interspersed with
fruit-gardens and villages, is bounded on the west by gently sloping
mountains (an isolated hill); the scenery is picturesque, and the
general appearance of cultivation and prosperity is most refreshing.
“The former capital of Muang Phan is said to be situated at the foot of
the low range of hills which bound the plain on the east, and a new town
is now being founded on its site.
“The history of this small province is interesting, as showing in what
manner colonies are effected, and how confusing are the boundaries of
the different States. The country was evidently deserted during the
early part of this century; later, a part of it was occupied by people
from Lakhon (Lakon), who, however, afterwards withdrew farther south.
About fifty years ago a settlement was made by people from Lamphun
(Lapoon), who have since gradually brought the country to its present
prosperous condition. Muang Phan is therefore governed by the State of
Lamphun, though not adjacent to it; but both Lakhon on the south and
Chienghai on the north lay claim to at least a portion of the little
province.
“Whilst at Muang Phan, I witnessed another phase in the formation of
settlements in this country. The chief of Chiengsen (Kiang Hsen) having
received permission to establish in his province a number of the
inhabitants of Muang Phan, proceeded, in the language of the country, to
drive the people into the new colony. However sound may be this policy
of migration, it was impossible not to commiserate the unfortunate
people who were thus driven from a comfortable home into a bare,
uncultivated country, where it would cost them many years of struggle to
recover only a portion of their former prosperity. Unable to dispose at
so short a notice of their houses, their gardens, and fertile
rice-fields, they were compelled to abandon everything that could not be
easily transported. I met many of these families, some carrying their
children, or perhaps the domestic fowl, in their arms; and some, such
few household goods as they were able to remove.
“Muang Phan, as well as the district under Phayao (Penyow) directly to
the south, is populous, and appears, indeed, to enjoy greater prosperity
than most of the surrounding country. It is well irrigated, and the
crops are generally good, while many of the other common necessaries of
life are here abundant and cheap. Fish is indeed very plentiful in the
extensive lake, or rather marsh, that occupies the centre of the plain,
and it forms an important article of export, giving rise to a
considerable trade with all the neighbouring States.”
Our proposed railway passes through both Muang Phan (Muang Hpan) and
Phayao (Penyow) on its way to Kiang Hsen.
Having erected our tent with the aid of a few bamboos borrowed from the
villagers, we sent a messenger to inform the Pau Muang (father of the
State), or governor, of our arrival. Soon afterwards he came in and
welcomed us, and sat down with us to dinner. He was a powerfully built,
grey-haired, massive-headed old gentleman, about 5 feet 10 inches high;
and had it not been for his costume and language, might have been taken
for a fine old Scotch Highlander.
On receiving notice of our intention to pass through his province, he
had set to work collecting transport for us; but only three elephants
had as yet been brought in from the district, which, with sixty porters,
he hoped would be sufficient to carry us and our baggage. After thanking
him for making these arrangements, we said perhaps it would be better
that the elephants with us should continue as far as Penyow, in which
case we should not require additional means of conveyance. To this our
elephant-men were agreeable, and thus a burden was taken off the
governor’s mind.
He told us many deserted cities existed in his neighbourhood. Viang Poo
Ken lay about half a mile west of our camp; Viang How, on the Meh Hsan;
another Viang How, on the Meh Ing; Viang Teung (the city of teak-trees),
on the Meng Loi; Viang Hsen Kong; and Viang Lau (Viang Law), on the Meh
Ing, three days’ journey above Kiang Khong. He then drew a map on the
ground with pieces of bamboo and matches, and explained to us the
features and lie of the country.
The next day a Christian, eighty years of age, came to visit Dr
M‘Gilvary; and Dr Cushing rambled with me through the villages, and
strolled under the shade of noble trees, through splendid park-like
scenery, to Viang Poo Ken. This deserted city is about half a mile
square, and is divided into three compartments. Its outer rampart was 10
feet high, and its ditches 50 feet wide and 10 feet deep. Another
fortress, circular, and 400 feet in diameter, crested the top of the
hill. No ruins were found in the city and fortress. Buildings built of
wood or bamboos, if vacated in a moist climate like that of the Shan
States, rot away in a few years, and leave no trace behind them. Even
brick and stone buildings, when deserted, are rapidly destroyed by
pipal-trees, and crumbling down, are covered with turf in the course of
centuries. Those navvies the ants are ever throwing earth over the
masonry records of past generations. These workers are nowhere more
numerous, and their work is nowhere more speedily accomplished, than in
Indo-China.
We left Muang Hpan in the afternoon, and made a short journey of 4½
miles to the Huay Kok Moo (the stream of the hog pens), where we halted
for the night—having crossed several small streams and canals all
flowing eastward into the Meh Hang, or into the fisheries through which
that stream passes on its way to the Meh Poong. Huay Kok Moo itself,
however, flows into a large lake-like marsh which serves as a fishery,
and forms one of the principal sources of the Meh Ing. A cutting from
the latter fishery into the Meh Poong, which enters the Meh Ing, would
shorten the course of the Meh Ing by 30 miles, and save the Penyow plain
from inundation, thus enabling a vast tract of country to be cultivated.
The population being sparse in the State, and not even a tenth of the
available land having been taken up for agriculture, the people have
thrown dams across some of the streams to turn them and the low-lying
country into fisheries, into which shoals of _plasoi_, or young fish,
ascend from the Meh Kong. This river commences to rise in April with the
melting of the snow, and is in high flood in July or August. When at its
highest, it inundates large tracts of country which serve as
breeding-grounds for the fish. As the waters subside, the young fish
enter the streams, and appear in dense lines fringing the banks on their
way up-stream. The dams are partially removed at the close of the
fishing season, to allow fresh fish to enter when they come up-stream to
breed. Incalculable harm is being done to the drainage of the country by
the fisheries, as the upper courses of the dammed streams will in time
silt up, when great expense will be required to relieve the water-logged
country. Streams should not be bunded until the end of the rains, and
all dams should be removed before they commence.
The haze of the atmosphere, aided by the fires occurring amongst the
long grass of the plains, had obscured our view since leaving Kiang Hai;
and the plain, except where broken by occasional hillocks, seemed
interminable on all sides. The soil was rich, and it was evident that
only more inhabitants were required to turn the plain into a vast
rice-field.
Leaving camp soon after dawn, we continued for three miles through the
grassy plain, crossing the beds of several dry streams and canals, and
then entered the extensive rice-fields of Ban Meh Chai, the northern
border village of Penyow, which contains 100 houses and a well-kept
temple and monastery. According to the head-man of the village, owing to
the land having been under cultivation for years, paddy only yields
eighty-fold the amount sown in his fields, or less than one-third its
yield in the newly taken-up land in the Kiang Hsen plain. Eighty-fold,
however, is fully double the average yield in Burmah.
After crossing the Meh Chai, in the centre of the village, we skirted
the fields for another mile, and crossed the Nong Hang near the site of
a witch’s house, which had lately been pulled down, after the occupants
had been driven from the village. Two miles farther, we came to and
crossed the Meh Ing flowing to the right, close to the village of Ban
Mai. This river was here 25 feet wide and 9 feet deep, and had only 1½
foot of water in its bed. It had a barely perceptible current, and flows
south as far as Penyow, then doubles round Loi Loo-en and turns
north-east on its way to join the Meh Kong. Turning to the east, we
followed the plain for two miles to the foot of Loi Loo-en, along which
the track continues to Penyow. Loi Loo-en is a pleasantly wooded hill
about nine miles long, running nearly north and south, and has formed
the site of several cities, some of which I subsequently visited during
my stay at Penyow.
A fire was raging in the plain, and a terrified hare, the first I had
seen during the journey, raced across the path in front of my elephant.
The atmosphere had grown oppressive, and although scarcely eleven
o’clock, the thermometer marked 91° in the shade. All were parched with
thirst; the boys lagged one foot behind the other, and the men scratched
holes in the dry stream-beds, seeking in vain for water. About one
o’clock we reached a dry brook having a few muddy puddles in the bed,
and determined to halt for breakfast. Half a mile farther would have
taken us to the village of Pang Ngao, where we might have got better
water, but we were all-unconscious of its existence.
Getting off our elephants, we flung ourselves down under the shade of a
great tree, where the temperature was 96°, and waited whilst the men dug
holes in the ground in search of pure water. None was to be found, so at
length the boys set to work to boil some liquid mud to make our tea.
Such tea, when made, we had not the stomach to drink, and could
therefore only rinse our mouths.
The march had been very distressing both to the elephants and men, and
it was well that Penyow, where we were to rest, was only three miles
distant. We started again, continuing to skirt the hill, and about
three-quarters of a mile from Penyow passed the site of the ancient city
of Chaum Taung, which is divided into three compartments by the usual
ramparts and ditches. A little farther we came to one of the most sacred
places of pilgrimage in the Shan States, Wat Phra Chow Toon Hluang (the
temple of the great sitting Buddha), and scrambled down from our
elephants to inspect it.
The walls were of plastered brickwork, and the beautiful roof rose in
five graceful tiers to a great height. On entering the temple, we saw a
colossal image of Gaudama 60 feet high, measuring 26¼ feet across the
hips, with hands 6½ feet long. Great pieces of yellow cloth, interwoven
with tinsel, covered the chest, and many tawdry banners were suspended
over and around the image, which is said to be of pure gold, but
doubtless has been formed of brick, and overlaid with the usual plaster
and gold-leaf.
LEGEND OF CHAUM TAUNG.
The legend of the temple runs as follows: At the time when Gaudama
Buddha was proceeding from Kiang Hai to Penyow, he arrived at Loi
Loo-en, where he met a _yak_ or ogre, who attacked and wished to devour
him. Avoiding the attack, the Buddh stamped on the ground, impressing a
_Phra Bat_ or Buddha’s footprint, and revealed himself to the _yak_. At
the foot of the mountain he saw an old couple, husband and wife,
clearing the trees to form a garden. These people, having nothing better
to offer, reverently presented the Buddh with the stone mortar in which
they crushed their betel-nut. Buddh therefore foretold that the country
in future should be noted for its stone utensils.
On his reaching the site of Viang Chaum Taung, a goldsmith, seeing the
Buddh, came forward with an offering of rice, and poured it into the
Buddh’s begging-bowl. Wishing to quench his thirst whilst eating the
rice, Gaudama sent An-nōn (Ananda, his favourite disciple) to the pond,
which included the site of the temple. Phya Nyak, the king of the
dragons, would not allow the water to be taken. On learning this, Buddh
exclaimed, “The three last Buddhs, Ka-Koo Senta (Kaukasan), Ko-Na Kamana
(Gaunagone), and Kakapa (Kathabah), have visited this place and eaten
rice.” He then became gigantic, swelling to the size of Ko-Na Kamana,
and stepping on the head of Phya Nyak, pressed him down into the water,
and thus made him aware that he was a Buddh. The king of the dragons at
once procured a stone for Buddh to sit on whilst bathing and drinking.
Incensed at water having been refused to him, Buddh prophesied that the
country should be without river-water in the hot season. He then ordered
Phya In (Indra) and Phya Nyak, that after his entering Neiban (the state
of eternal rest), and half of his dispensation of 5000 years had
elapsed, they should take gold, and offer it to the old people who had
made offerings to him, and who would be reborn on the same spot, and
instruct them to make an image of him with the gold in the middle of the
pond: the image to be of the size of Ko-Na Kamana. Having finished
prophesying, he left Penyow.
[Illustration:
_Phya Nyak, the king of serpents and dragons._
]
The old people, it is believed, after passing through three existences,
were reborn at Penyow, and made the image in Wat Phra Chow Toon Hluang.
The ditches round the three cities of Viang Chaum Taung are said to have
been dug by _yaks_, or ogres, whilst Buddh was resting in it eating the
rice and waiting for Ananda to bring him water.
On reaching Penyow (Panyow or Phayao), Buddh summoned the people to
listen to his preaching. The men, who were clearing the fields with long
knives, at once hurried to him with their implements in their hands.
Buddh, looking at them with astonishment, exclaimed, “Pahn Yow!” (what
long knives!); thence the place is known as Pahn Yow or Penyow.
Another city, called Viang Moo Boon, situated two days’ journey to the
south-east of Penyow, is said to have had its trenches and ramparts
marked out by a sacred dog, and executed by _nyaks_ or dragons.
According to some Buddhist books which give histories of twenty-four
Buddhs who preceded Gaudama (Sakya Muni), who is the only Buddh known to
history, the twenty-third Buddh lived as a layman for 3000 years, and
was 45 feet high; the twenty-fourth Buddh lived 20,000 years, and was 30
feet high; and Gaudama, the twenty-fifth Buddh, had existed for 100,000
ages when he was retranslated to the earth. For 36,500 years he existed
as Indra, the great king of the Dewas, after which time, being desirous
to save mankind, he passed through a course of existences on this world,
the history of which is given in the 510 Zahts or Jatakas.
A quarter of an hour after leaving the temple, we were gladdened by the
sight of a Shan Rachel drawing water from a well close to the city
walls. How often she drew water for the men, and willingly and
laughingly offered it to the thirsty souls, who seemed as if they would
never be satisfied, I cannot tell. She did so as long as it was
required, and then, after letting them draw some for the elephants,
walked jauntily off with her bamboo buckets swinging in either hand.
We then entered the city, and halted at the court-house, under a
magnificent tarapeuk tree, covered with great dangling blossoms, which
from a distance looked like cattail orchids. Although half-past five
when we halted, the temperature was still 91°. This was by far the
hottest march we had made; and the glare and dust, joined with thirst,
and constant peering at my instrument, made my eyes and head ache so
that I could hardly keep to my work. It was getting dark when we
arrived.
Muang Penyow is situated in the great elbow-curve made by the Meh Ing,
and lies 130 miles from Zimmé, at a height of 1266 feet above the sea.